


help you see a little bit clearer (the light that shines within)

by TasteOfHoney



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, Gentle Sex, One Shot, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 15:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TasteOfHoney/pseuds/TasteOfHoney
Summary: The first time they make love Blake asks her if they can turn off the lights, and Yang wants to ask why, but then her partner adds a shaky please and she simply does as she’s bid, reaching over to flick the switch so that they share their bodies in darkness instead of light.





	help you see a little bit clearer (the light that shines within)

**Author's Note:**

> does anyone else ever think about how blake is probably touch starved and cry a little? bc I do
> 
> anyway enjoy some soft smut because these two are very in love
> 
> quick note: i know there's a lot of weird stuff in the bee tag on here so rest assured that this is written by an actual wlw and i consider it my duty to attempt to purge the tag with better filth that isn't gross

The first time they make love Blake asks her if they can turn off the lights, and Yang wants to ask why, but then her partner adds a shaky _please_ and she simply does as she’s bid, reaching over to flick the switch so that they share their bodies in darkness instead of light.

Afterwards she wonders if it was just to help with nerves, but when Blake makes the same request the next five times as well she knows it’s something deeper. She waits as patiently as she can, hoping the day will come when her partner will talk to her about it, but a month later when that day still hasn’t arrived she decides to broach the subject herself.

She would _never_ ask for anything that Blake wasn’t willing to give, but she just wants to understand, and she can’t deny that a tiny, greedy part of her wants more— wants to look into Blake’s eyes while they’re together, wants to _see_ the ecstasy written across her face as she comes undone, wants to know that her partner trusts her enough to bare all of herself to her.

And so the next time they fall into bed, intertwined and unable to stop kissing each other, she asks. She manages to breathe the request between every eager meeting of their lips, unwilling to completely give up the contact long enough to string even nine words together.

“Baby, can we leave the light on this time?”

Blake freezes against her, and Yang’s heart freezes in her chest to match. She wants to kick herself; she shouldn’t have said it— shouldn’t have brought it up. So she pulls back to press their foreheads together instead, letting her hand run gently up and down Blake’s spine in what she hopes is a soothing gesture.

“I’m sorry. That was selfish, and it was wrong of me to ask. I’ll turn the light off right now if you wa—”

“No.” Blake’s voice is surprisingly firm, and Yang’s hand stills against her back.

“No?” she repeats, needing to be sure of exactly what her partner is asking for.

“I— I want to let you leave it on, but I just… I _can’t_.”

Yang carefully pulls her into her lap, holding her properly, the feeling of Blake shaking in her arms igniting a need to protect her partner so strong it almost scares her, and she presses a kiss to the top of Blake’s head, giving in to the urge to make her emotions something tangible— physical.

“You don’t have to tell me, but this is obviously causing you pain, and I can’t bear to see you hurting. So just know that I’ll be right here if you ever want to talk about it, for whatever you need.”

“I’m not—” Blake cuts herself off, and after a long moment of silence she tries again, quieter than before. “I’m not beautiful the way you are, Yang. I have scars. Marks. Ugly things that I don’t want you to see.”

“I’ve seen you naked before, Blake,” Yang says, genuinely confused.

“Yes, but not like _this_. When we’re together you— you pay attention to me. You treat me l-like I matter. And I don’t want you to look too hard and realise you were wrong.”

Yang withdraws just far enough to cup Blake’s face in her hands, holding her gaze as her thumbs wipe away the few tears that spilled over.

“Blake, listen to me. There is _nothing_ you could show me that would change the way I think of you— the way I see you. Please, baby, you don’t have to hide anything from me.” She glances down at her prosthetic for just a moment. “And you’re not the only one here with scars.”

There’s a beat of silence as Blake looks into her eyes, and then she nods.

“Okay,” she says, and it sounds like a question, but when she says it again it sounds like certainty.

“Do you trust me?” Yang asks, knowing she’ll never forgive herself if the answer is no.

But instead, she receives _yes_ , she receives _always_ , and she can breathe again.

“Then lie down and turn over for me.”

Blake does so without hesitation, and Yang spares several seconds to just appreciate being able to truly admire the smooth muscle of Blake’s bare back for the first time. Then she reaches out to rest her hands on either side of her spine, slowly, carefully, letting her partner get used to being exposed this way.

She feels Blake’s sharp intake of breath under her hands, and she waits, but then the tension beneath her palms eases as Blake relaxes into the mattress. Yang takes the unspoken invitation, gliding her palms cautiously over her sides, the planes of her shoulder blades, the faint outline of her ribs, encouraged by the way Blake melts underneath her a little more with each passing moment.

The possibility that Blake has spent years without ever being touched like this—with kindness, with softness, with affection, with the intention to make her feel good—weighs deep in Yang’s bones like an ache, but she can change that, and she makes a silent promise to herself to make up for everything Blake’s missed.

She can see the marks Blake was talking about now, the thin white line of a long-healed wound or the raised skin of a welt scattered by chance to form a unique canvas that paints the portrait of Blake and Blake alone. Overcome with the beauty of this magnificent woman, she leans down, her lips grazing over a scar at the top of her spine in the lightest of kisses. She can feel the shiver that runs through her partner’s body, leaving goosebumps in its wake as a small sound of pleasure rises from Blake’s throat.

Eager to hear that noise again, Yang moves, following a path down to the small of her back, stopping to kiss every mark—methodical and without exception—as though missing one would be tantamount to failure. And in her head, it would be a form of failure, because perhaps, if she wishes hard enough, if she pours enough of her devotion onto her partner’s skin, she can erase the suffering that they represent.

That Blake carries them all and is still so brave, so determined, is staggering, but Yang can’t help the part of her that wishes her partner had never been through even an ounce of that torture. A much larger part of her is almost grateful for them, though, because without them they wouldn’t be where they are now— together, protecting each other.

“Turn over again,” she whispers, because anything louder feels wrong somehow.

Blake lets out a disappointed whine when Yang pulls away, but she rolls over onto her back anyway, and Yang smiles with the joy of seeing her face once more.

“Hey, beautiful.”

She can see the tears well in Blake’s eyes, but they don’t fall, and the corners of her partner’s mouth lift in the barest echo of her own happiness. Yang can’t resist leaning in to kiss the freckles dusting the bridge of Blake’s nose next, and then she presses her lips to Blake’s before beginning the second half of her journey.

The other thing Blake had asked the first time they were intimate was that Yang avoid putting her hands on her neck, and so now she leaves the imprint of her mouth there instead, a show of tenderness to counter the bruises of spite that have long since faded.

When she reaches her breasts Blake arches into her, but Yang maintains the same steady pace, exploring every valley and curve before she finally lets herself be guided to the hard peak. She refuses to rush this, refuses to take it lightly— she wants to worship, to pay homage, to cherish rather than neglect.

She only moves on once Blake is squirming beneath her, the muscles of her abdomen twitching under her lips before at last Yang’s mouth covers the mark of Adam’s blade. Her partner’s hips buck up into her when she traces it with her tongue, and she wonders if it is the sensitivity of the memories or the scar tissue that prompts such a strong reaction. Either way, she lingers, offering love as an antidote to the venomous hatred that tore them apart.

And then she shifts down, once she's satisfied that the remnants of Adam have been completely overpowered by the strength of her devotion, and settles between Blake's legs. She spreads her partner's thighs slowly, carefully, with intention but not with force. Blake's legs are shaking already, but the way her partner's hand tangles in her hair—her precious hair that she would usually hate for anyone to touch that way, anyone except this marvellous woman—tells Yang that it's not from nervousness but anticipation.

Blake's never let her do this for her before either—Yang suspects that the intimacy of this particular act was something her partner wasn't ready for—and it honours her beyond belief to be allowed to do it now. Blake cries out with the first stroke of her tongue, and Yang has to take hold of her hips to keep them still when they rise sharply away from the bed.

She tries everything she can think of, finding each and every way that she can bring Blake to the height of ecstasy. Drawing patterns with her tongue gets her breathy sighs, slipping inside gets her ragged gasps, and focusing on the hypersensitive bundle of nerves where Blake's hand in her hair keeps trying to guide her gets her moans that are surprisingly loud given how quiet her partner usually is when they do this.

It's both humbling and almost heartbreaking how responsive she is; Yang feels blessed to be the one to introduce her to an entirely new type of pleasure, to share something they’ve never explored before together, but the fact that Blake is clearly so unused to feeling good weighs heavy on her soul.

“ _Yang_. Yang, I love you. I love you. You’re too good for me. _Gods_ —”

Blake’s fingers fist almost painfully in her hair, but she doesn’t mind when it means that her partner is coming apart because of her— _for_ her. She stays until she’s sure that the last waves of release have run through Blake’s body and then she withdraws, absent-mindedly lifting a hand to wipe her mouth.

“Why did— why did I never let you do that before?” Blake pants, and Yang can’t help but grin at the breathless awe in her voice.

“I know you had your reasons. But I’m happy to do it again whenever you want.”

A smirk curls at the corners of Blake’s mouth. “What if I wanted you to do it again right now?”

Yang laughs. “I’ve created a monster,” she teases, but she obliges without hesitation when her partner’s grip tightens again, pulling her back in.

Maybe to begin with they were together in darkness, but now there’s only light.

**Author's Note:**

> drop a comment if ya feel like it and i'll probably be back at some point in the future lmao


End file.
